


Love to hate you

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Cliche, Confusion, Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love/Hate, M/M, Manchester United, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22788988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: Victor adored and idolized David. Then the stupid big-headed English c-nt arrived and took away David's well-deserved captaincy.Anger ensues.
Relationships: Victor Lindelöf/Harry Maguire
Comments: 45
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

"You called him _what_?" David's eyebrows were almost off his head; he looked absolutely shocked by what he's just heard.

Victor turned to him, his face tense and desperate. "I know! I didn't mean to - "

" _A fat English cunt_?"

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't apologize to me!" He made the remaining steps to his friend and grabbed him by shoulders. "Victor - _you can't do that_."

Victor shook his head, avoiding his mate's intense gaze.

"Vic - I know he's annoying and that you don't like him but - don't you think we're struggling enough already?" He rubbed Victor's shoulders comfortingly.

"It was because of ýou, he was saying something about you and the captaincy and how it's the gaffer's choice - "

"You know he's right."

Victor sneered, looking at the Spaniard defiantly. "He can't be."

"Look, I really appreciate all that you do for me but there is no point in being enemies. For God's sake, I'll need to play with you two in front of my goal - you can't be bickering and arguing the whole time."

"He's so annoying - "

"Stop whining about that. I know he thinks he's a big star now but believe me - this won't help anyone."

Victor finally managed to raise his eyes; chilly and intelligent, as always, they found their way to mollify de Gea's mind.

"Oh, Vic," he exhaled, pulling the Swede into a tight embrace. "Sometimes you can be so stubborn."

"It's just 'cos I care."

"I love you for that, really." He pulled away, looking at the smaller man. "Just don't overdo it, okay? Remember you're _The Iceman_."

"Not around _him_ , apparently."

"Come on. You can do this. He's a good player, you're a good player - that's a dream come true for me."

Victor had to laugh at that. Deep down in his heart, he knew that this feud has been childish from the start but he couldn't help himself. Something about Harry always made his mood drop below the freezing point, whenever he saw the man, his day was ruined. He's never felt anything comparable to this to any of his teammates. Now, just looking at Maguire's head and his hair ( _God, he really looked like Dennis the Menace, as someone once mentioned_ ) made him feel all kinds of aversion. And the way he spoke - Victor had to clench his fist. Just that - terrible stupid look on his face whenever he said something "important", when he spoke about the team spirit and attitude as if he's been there working hard for years - 

"I just can't stand him."

David shook his head, looking down at him with the smile of a disappointed older brother. "Why? Just ignore him. He's a colleague, you'll need to cooperate but you don't have to be best friends. How many guys would you even consider like - really close friends? You won't be having him coming round for tea or beer or whatever you drink at home. He's just a guy you need to work with."

"I know. I don't wanna complain about it and all but - " He furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't know what it is. I just wanna punch him."

David chuckled.

"No real reason behind that," Victor finished, shrugging. He felt tired. He always felt tired even thinking about Maguire, and he's done that a lot in the past few days, without even wanting to. 

"Don't do it." Although the message was serious and well-meant, David was laughing. "But if you do it, I'll buy you dinner."

There was no dinner and no punching, instead, there was Ole calling Victor into his office. Lindelöf had an idea what the conversation would be about even before he closed the door of the gaffer's office.

"So, Victor - " Solskjaer's smile looked forced and uncomfortable, as it always did on a post-match press conference after a loss. "How's everything?" His hands were a bit fidgety, that was something that Victor noticed straight away. It was obvious the subject of their discussion was not going to be pleasant for either of them.

"it's good, yeah - The training's okay, I feel good - " He shrugged, trying to avoid an eye-contact. He was used to talking to Ole in their made-up Swedish-Norwegian language but today it wasn't really comforting. Ole's words were curt and very much clear.

"What about Harry? Has he settled in well?"

Lindelöf shifted from one foot to the other. It was very unusual from Solskjaer to not offer him to sit down. It was probably yet another sign of a very brief and clear conversation. "Yeah, I believe he's - he's okay - "

His shifty eyes finally dared to meet Solskjaer's gaze. Ole looked focused, concentrated and deadly serious. "You believe?" Ole's smile looked menacing now. Victor felt stupid for starting the conversation like this - he realized the gaffer must have been told by someone - well, by Maguire himself, probably - about their bust-up. Jesus Christ. What a fucking pain in the ass this fat English cunt was.

"We had - " Victor hesitated. What should he say? What does Solskjaer know? " - a little misunderstanding."

The boss nodded, smile frozen on his face. "Why, Victor?"

"Why - why what? Why we had that misunderstanding?"

"I've always counted on you as an intelligent young man, Victor." Lindelöf's heart sank. "I've thought you'd be the one to help with Harry's new role."

Why should I help him? Victor thought but didn't dare to say. He just looked in the gaffer's eyes defiantly without a word.

"He's still quite new in here."

Victor took in a deep breath, ready to fire back ( _Then why is he the captain?_ ) but Ole's raised hand stopped him. "No - don't say anything. I know you like David very much but you need to understand this. It's nothing against David. I can't, of course, know what you think but I got the feeling that you have this need to fight for Dave - against all the odds. That's not the right way to think now. We need a strong team that works together, with a leader who is respected."

"David would - "

"Enough of this. I appreciate your loyalty to Dave. That is admirable. But times have changed. You'll need to accept Harry as the captain. I understand you can't be friends with everyone, and I'm not asking you to be friends with him. I just want to see you two get on. You need a strong partnership. Do you understand that? If he was a striker and you were a goalkeeper, I wouldn't probably care that much. But this is important. The whole team depends on a strong base in the back. If you two can't work this out, we'll need to take further steps. And I wouldn't want to take it that far. Understood?"

Every next word cut inside Victor's heart like a knife. _So he was the one to be blamed for all of this?_ He's never felt more helpless. 

Solskjaer noticed his silent anger and frustration. "Victor, I'm not saying this to humiliate you or make you angry - I mean it as advice. You can't be going around and say such things to your teammates. And especially not to the captain."

"Did he complain?"

Solskjaer's smile seemed a bit more genuine now. "I won't tell you. But I think you can put two and two together."

"So he did."

"Rightly so."

"Alright."

"Victor, you should apologize."

Lindelöf bit his lip, looking down at his shoes. 

"It's not right to disassemble the team from inside like this. It will backfire sooner than you know it. Believe me."

"Okay, gaffer." He couldn't really imagine himself coming up to Maguire and muttering any words of apology but he had to end this awkward discussion on a hopeful note.

"Oh, and Vic - I want you two to share a room in Marbella."

Victor was already almost leaving when he heard those words. He stopped mid-step and turned back slowly, horrified. "Pardon?"

Solskjaer's smile was still there. "Take it as a little therapy. You need to learn to respect him. It's not a kindergarten in here."


	2. Chapter 2

The key couldn't get in, and Victor cursed in his head, wondering why the hell would anyone still use normal keys when electronic cards for the hotel rooms have been a thing for years. He almost kicked the door open afterward, dragging his suitcase inside. He was welcomed by a pleasant smell of fresh bedsheets and a light breeze coming inside through the half-open window. He walked further inside through the small corridor and stepped into the bedroom - an open, light and throughout Meditteranean one. There were two large wardrobes, a couch, a TV and a hi-fi radio, a fan on the counter by the wall. A photo of nature hanging on the wall. A coffee machine. Two separated beds, one right next to the wall, the other closer to the window. 

He immediately went to the one closer to the window. At least he'll have something to look at. He pushed his suitcase towards the bed and dropped his other bag on top of it to mark it as _his_. He then went to the window and opened it wide, glad that at least there's some wind now. It's been awfully hot in the airport and the bus that got them to their resort. He checked the minibar hidden by the TV counter. _Water, more water, some juice_. No party of course. He started to wonder how the next week would go. 

Harry got into the room a bit later - he was busy speaking to the manager and it took him some time to get upstairs. Victor couldn't care less, he just dropped onto his chosen bed and pulled out his phone. 

_This is a nightmare_ , he texted to Dave on Whatsapp and then laid his hand with the phone along his body. He felt tired from the flight and even more exhausted from the heat. He liked the sun and nature, but his body just wasn't used to this kind of climate. He's always thought he's had the worst acclimatization of the whole team.

He heard a bit of ruffling from outside the room, some keys clinging and then the sound of attempting to unlock the door. It made him uncomfortable, almost as much as just seeing Harry sitting across from him on the plane. They didn't talk. They probably didn't even greet each other.

Then the door opened and Victor instinctively clenched his fist.

"Hi."

 _How could even a simple greeting make him so mad at Harry_? Vic could still hear that voice of reason back inside his head. He muttered something under his breath when Harry got into the room. 

"So you're here already," Harry said, trying to smile.

 _Where else would I be_?

"It's a nice room, huh?"

 _Fucking Englishmen and their politeness_.

"The TV's big enough - yeah and the view - " Harry left his luggage in the middle of the room and went to the window, followed by Victor's look. "It's so nice to get away once in a while - " He was practically talking to himself up to this point. "Do you mind if I close the window? It's kinda windy - "

Victor would laugh out loud if he wasn't annoyed. "Whatever."

"Look - " Harry closed the window and adjusted the curtain. "I know you'd probably rather live with someone else - "

Victor turned his head, looking at Harry without any interest. He really looked stupid, didn't he? Like something out of the Sunday league, with his big head and the awkward movement of his body - he just looked out of place. Here, in this room - in a room that Vic was supposed to share with literally anyone else, preferably with David though - he also looked a bit lost. Or maybe it was just the face. Clueless look and a stupid smile. 

Lindelöf sighed and picked up his phone again. 

"Vic, I don't mean to annoy you - "

"You already are." Victor didn't even know where all this hate was coming from. He's never dared to snap back at his teammates like this, and now it seemed just as a natural reaction to anything Harry had to say.

"Why do you hate me?"

The Swede closed his eyes, trying to absorb the sound of the words. _Hate him_? That's harsh. Does he hate Harry Maguire? Who knows. He certainly feels something he's never felt. Is that _hate_? He's used to ignoring certain people, not caring about them, but _hate_? - maybe Harry had just awakened something inside him that he's never known.

"I don't hate you."

It's definitely easy to say so than try to understand his feelings.

"Then why do you act like this?" Harry was still standing by the window, awaiting some sort of eye contact or maybe even an apology that definitely wasn't coming any time soon.

Victor gazed back at Harry. His eyes had the sort of a beaten-puppy look in them. Such a big lad - and such a stupid face. _And those damned eye_ s - 

"The boss said," Harry started again, "we should just try to get on better. He's noticed it himself that we - that you - "

\- _plus he sounded like some kind of a teacher's pet now. The boss said this, and the boss said that. Of course. The nice boy Harry Maguire listens to what the boss says._

"I know, he spoke to me as well."

Harry nodded and stayed quiet, leaving room for an awkward silence. 

"Alright," he said then, eyes wandering around the room. "I guess I'll go downstair - the lads want to play some games down in the social room - " He took a breath to continue but seeing Victor's empty gaze, he gave up. "Okay," he finished, finally moving. "See you later."

Victor spent the rest of the afternoon slouched on the couch of the room, watching the TV with some music program on mindlessly, and occasionally texting Dave, who apparently went downstair to "enjoy the games", as he himself wrote. 

_the boss asked why you're not here_

_tell him I'm lazy_

_he smirked and asked if you're sulking_

_you just wanna be alone huh?_

That was the truth. Victor loved the squad and he liked to spend his time with all the guys, just not necessarily right now. The evening and night programs, aimed to strengthen the bond and help the team get in the right spirit for the training, were not obligatory, as Solskjaer always seemed to understand the differences in individual personalities. Some guys simply preferred to stay in their rooms, watch the TV, read a book or facetime with their families. Not everyone found pleasure in team-bonding sessions, though from time to time, Solskjaer made them obligatory for the whole team. Tonight shouldn't have been the case, as the boss didn't say anything about them having to come. The first night in a training camp always tended to be freer anyway. 

Victor started to feel as if Solskjaer was doing this on purpose. He also never really cared much who shared a room with whom, he only intervened when he needed to make sure that a new boy had someone helpful and caring by his side, as it was in the case of Daniel and McTominay. But otherwise, he'd always let the players choose whom they wanted to room with freely. At least until now. And when Victor finally got a moment of peace, Solskjaer wanted him to come downstairs and have to look at that slabhead again? 

_i'm not in a mood for any games_

_should I come?_

Oh, good old David. Always there when he was needed. 

_no, don't worry_

_I'll probably just go to sleep_

_night x_

_x_

He placed the phone down on the coffee table. The TV was still running in the background but he didn't care much about the sound of it. He actually thought about going down to the social room and having a bit of a chit-chat with the guys. Then again, he thought of Harry being there. That was the exhausting part. Just thinking about him was sucking the energy out of Victor. It felt strange. He wasn't as tired from the traveling itself as from the brief interaction with Harry. 

Yeah. It was all about Harry.


	3. Chapter 3

Victor almost jumped as he heard the door close. 

"Sorry, you were asleep?"

 _For fuck's sake_. Lindelöf rubbed his eyes, feeling absolutely clapped out. His body hurt from lying on the uncomfortable couch, and now even his eyes were burning because of the light that the English fucker turned on as he walked into the room.

"Sorry, I didn't know - "

Victor just frowned, covering his eyes from the annoyingly sharp light. 

"I'll turn it off if you want to sleep - "

" _Fuck off_."

For a second, Victor didn't realize he's said it aloud. His head hurt, it might have been from the travel, from the early nap or even from the way he was woken up - he didn't know. It was just very uncomfortable to keep his eyes open and to listen to Harry.

"What have I done to you?" Harry's voice now sounded reproachful. He closed the door behind him and probably intended to turn the light off for good, but Victor's two words made him stop. 

"You just talk too much," Vic mumbled, focusing on his own waddle towards the bed. He felt exhausted, almost sick. Maybe the traveling was taking its toll. Maybe he's caught something. 

"Maybe sometimes _you_ should do some talking as well."

Victor turned around, ready to flip Harry off for once and for all, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to do that. Harry looked miserable, his slouched figure still standing by the light switch. Lindelöf just exhaled and walked towards his bed. The atmosphere in the room was icy; without a single sound to be heard except for his slow steps.

"I'm trying so hard - " Harry spoke.

 _Oh God, not self-pity. Anything but self-pity._ "I know," he interrupted his roommate as he sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress already felt more comfortable than the couch, and he couldn't wait to lie down on it. He moved the pillow and checked his phone before putting it away on the night table. 

"Are you even listening to me?"

The voice spoke much closer than Victor had expected it, and his body jerked in a surprise. Harry followed his footsteps and now was standing next to his bed, right in front of him. Tall and menacing, making Victor's heart stop for a moment. Now it was freezing cold in the room, so cold that Victor could actually feel the shivers run down his spine.

"If you could at least try for once," Harry spoke, awkwardly trying to touch Lindelöf's shoulder. "It would be so much easier for both of us - "

"What do you want from me?" He shifted away from the touch instinctively, avoiding it in the same manner as any eye-contact. Why? his own mind whined, and he hesitated for a moment. The touch was - it was - it felt - strange. It was something - unfamiliar. He frowned, trying to examine this reaction further.

" _Just fucking listen to me, will you? For fuck's sake -_ !"

The words took Victor by surprise. He's never heard Harry say anything like that, although he had no doubts about him using a bit harsher language maybe in normal everyday life, while in the squad, he's never let anything inappropriate out of his mouth. It just didn't suit him. He was always trying to be professional and appropriate, in a rather annoying way, that it was driving Vic insane. And now _this_? _Now_ Lindelöf was intrigued. The tables have turned. Now Harry was fuming and he was the one apologizing.

"Sorry," he blurted, looking up at Harry. 

Menacing - that was the right word. Tall, big, and - ignoring his sheepish eyes - potentially determined. _Determined to do what_? Victor wondered. He's never managed to stare in Harry's eyes for so long, and now the act was frightening him. It was so hard to look away. _Impossible_ , even.

"Victor?"

He's never even noticed the warm undertone of Harry's eyes.

Or maybe he did.

He probably _did_.

And then got afraid.

Just like right now.

He managed to tear his eyes off Maguire's face ( _it was still the same stupid face, right? the stupid slab head which he hated so much_ ) and looked for a safer place to lay his eyes on around the room.

 _Fucking Harry Maguire_.

His thoughts were by now feverishly racing through his head. He knew he had to do something now, react; one way or another, and deal with the situation. 

Maybe he really wasn't the best in one-on-one situations. That's what they said about him anyway. Even Solskjaer told him a few times. _Victor, keep your head cool._ _Don't panic_.

If only it was that easy. 

Naturally, he panicked and grabbed Maguire's hand - the same hand he's just avoided a few seconds ago. He felt the smooth structure; the skin and its warmth and just this simple gesture confused him, although it probably confused Harry even more.

He hasn't felt this kind of human touch for months - and he wasn't counting the occasional hugs and high-fives during the game. It felt almost alien - David hugged him, of course, but that was...different. That was Dave. And this was Harry - Harry and his big, strong, manly hands, so passive in his grip. Something about it felt fascinating, and the rest of it was simply strange. How could anyone with hands so big, and with those muscular arms and a large head and overall tall and strong figure just stand there by him, completely resigned and uncomplaining?

Lindelöf was getting uncomfortable; the shock of the realization prevented him from letting go off Harry's hand so he was still holding onto it as the grasp turned sweaty and desperate.

"Victor?"

Maguire squatted down next to him and the movement finally woke him up from the catatonic state - it felt like Harry was about to do something else. 

What - Victor couldn't imagine. But it made him finally ease the grip and yank away as if he had only now realized how silly he must have looked.

Now it was Maguire's turn to look stupid as he was squatted down next to the bed, right in front of Lindelöf, as if he was dealing with a child - 

Victor soon realized that this was the only thing he could currently hate him for - so he stuck with it. "Get up, for God's sake - " He turned away, feeling embarrassed and _guilty_ ; after all, it was because of him that Harry got so close and into this position.

Harry watched him for a split second. "We should be able to talk - "

"I want to sleep," Victor abruptly ended his attempt of reviving the strange moment from a while ago.

The-deer-in-the-headlights look on Harry's face remained as he got up and nodded. "Alright. Sorry I woke you up earlier."

Hating Harry Maguire was actually harder than Vicor had thought. He was starting to lose his head - and sleep was the best excuse. The only excuse that a panicky Victor was able to find now. He just muttered a response, too quiet for Harry to actually hear it, and then focused solely on getting comfortable in the bed. 

He could still feel Harry's presence, although he didn't look up. A few seconds passed, then the Englishman sighed and walked away, towards the bathroom. 

The sound of each footstep echoed in Lindelöf's brain.

His chest felt unusually tight.


	4. Chapter 4

As much as he'd wish to, Victor couldn't fall asleep. A strange weight on his chest wouldn't let him take in a much needed deep breath and he felt constantly on the verge of suffocating. He didn't really think his first night in Marbella would look like this. He hardly even spoke to anyone - and now was stuck with Maguire and the stupid feelings that appeared out of nowhere. Back in his head, he could hear a small voice telling him to _apologize_ , but then there was his pride - and the fact that Harry was in the bathroom taking a shower; the moment just wasn't right.

He might have snoozed for a while, lying in his bed, but his consciousness was still very much aware of the situation around. As soon as the bathroom door opened, he was wide awake again, just as anxious as before.

He heard Harry's footsteps, long, decisive, yet silenced by the thick carpet; and they lead towards the other bed, then to the wardrobe, and then back out of the bedroom again. Lindelöf laid in his bed with eyes closed, biting his tongue and wishing he was brave enough to speak up _now_. Harry was right when he said that Victor never talked much - but it was simply because he didn't know _what to say_ in situations like this. He could talk for hours to his friends, to Dave, to Andreas - and there was no problem whatsoever. 

He rolled over to his right side and opened up his eyes. The light was still coming into the room from the bathroom, not in an obtrusive way - just as a sign of someone else being present there. It reminded him of his childhood, and of the times when he used to go to bed early and his parents were still awake - he would lie in a dark and quiet bedroom but he knew that his mum and dad were there, in the next room, if he needed them. The memory made him almost emotional, and he himself wondered where did it come from - _why would he make such an association_ \- but then Harry came out of the bathroom and he instinctively shut his eyes tight, pretending to be asleep. The last thing he caught a glimpse of was Harry in one of the two bathrobes that were there for them to use - _with his hair down_ \- 

_Maguire looked different with his hair down_. _He gave off a different vibe._ Victor thought about it as he listened to yet more footsteps and some ruffling and the sound of a zip being undone - 

\- _Harry actually looked like a proper captain on the pitch, but outside of it, especially with his hair down, he was such a_ \- 

He frowned when the first thing that sprung to mind was " _a soft lad_ ". No. _He looked like an idiot._

Especially when compared to how David appeared - always so composed and strong and morally right and - he was desperately trying to find other pompous adjectives to attach to his best friend. _David was the leader, definitely. Harry was - just someone new. Someone who came into the team with a big fat price tag - and has been a disappointment ever since._

Victor opened one eye lazily to check the situation. Harry was standing by the wardrobe, sorting something out, with his back turned to Lindelöf's bed.

 _Harry was just_ \- Victor's brain was overheating just from the frantic need to find some negative words - _a cunt, yeah, just as he had righteously said it - an egoistic cunt_ \- 

It was hard to believe when all he could see was actually a man with dark hair in a bathrobe standing by a wardrobe. Was this really the person he should hate the most? 

As soon as Harry moved away from the wardrobe, Victor closed his eye again. He could almost feel his brain working. There were so many informations to process and so many emotions to try and resolve that he knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight. Maybe he should just tackle one thing at a time - and not panic, just as Ole told him to. Maybe he should deal with one problem and then move onto the next. He could easily say a simple sorry to Harry and tomorrow, he wouldn't need to worry about this anymore. 

After all, he would probably need to say sorry sooner or later, just as Solskjaer wanted him to. So why not deal with it now?

He's spent much more time with this thought than he would have liked. He counted seconds and then delayed the moment - then Harry left the room too soon - and then he couldn't find the right word to say - he wondered what should he say - and then he just bluntly said "I'm sorry I was so mad - " without even raising his head or addressing Harry at first.

Harry jumped a little, probably surprised by Victor's voice, but then stood still and nodded. Victor watched him cautiously, trying to say something more without sounding too apologetic and desperate. 

"I shouldn't have - I didn't mean it."

Harry nodded without a word, and the room fell into a deadly silence. Victor felt even more miserable.

"Say something," he mumbled, trying to stay calm. He expected Harry's response, and the lack of it was just making everything worse.

"I - I'm glad you - you said this." Harry must have been completely taken by surprise because even his voice was a bit shaky and unsure now. "I mean - thank you. I didn't even think you would - say this - after that - "

"I don't hate you." He just had to say that, to make things clear. He finally decided to give up on his need to look half-asleep, and he sat up on the bed.

"Well, that's certainly good to hear - " Harry's laugh didn't sound honest. It stung Victor right between his ribs - Harry's miserable attempt of joking was actually the result of his own actions. 

"So - yeah - you shouldn't take it - seriously - " He sat up on the bed. His heart was beating like crazy. "Come here." It surprised him that Harry followed his instructions so easily. There was something childlike in that as if he was ready to follow any advice or any instruction given to him. "We good?"

He closed his eyes when he asked. He just couldn't look at the mess with his own eyes - he couldn't look at Harry's face, even now when he managed to somewhat apologize and move a bit further, there was still something in his head that made him feel too embarrassed to do this with open eyes.

Instead of looking, he just reached out his hand. 

And Maguire accepted it.

The touch resonated through every fiber of Victor's body; his skin was in flames. How could such a simple thing - arguing and then making up - include so many emotions in one single night?

"You have a thing for touching people - " Harry 's stiff smile widened a little. " _People's hands_ \- " he corrected himself.

"No; it's just - "

_It's just you. And the stupid need to hold someone. Even here and now. Holding. Hands._

The loss of words made Victor open his eyes. When words couldn't be found, he had use other ways of saying what he'd meant to. He stared up at Harry without a word, yet there had to be something written in his gaze because Harry was watching him, hypnotized. Was he playing with him? If they were really such good partners for the game, they should be able to understand each other without a word - and Victor felt like Harry has never seemed more mysterious.

He couldn't take the pressure anymore - he took the desperate route instead. He threw his hands around Harry's neck and pulled him closer, into an intimate embrace, in the hug, in the kiss - 

The kiss was actually just a short meeting of lips, too short to leave any lasting impression except for a surprise. 

Harry pulled away as soon as he could but Victor's hands remained wrapped around his neck, not letting him go.

"Is that what you want?" Harry sounded frightened. 

Was it what he wanted? It was hard to say. He definitely didn't want it to stop - because he would need to explain it. Carrying on the kissing would give him at least more time, or an excuse, and maybe he'd come up with a more cleared up mind in a few minutes. Or maybe he wouldn't need to explain anything because his actions would be enough. Either way, with his arms around Maguire's neck and with his lips still parted and burning after the last kiss, there was hardly anything else to do than kiss him again. And then again, and again, and again, because what difference does it make if it's a kiss on the lips or a French kiss now - 

"Yes - "

Turning the situation into the yet bigger mess was definitely easier than solving what has already been fucked up.

Was he using the situation to his advance? Was he abusing Harry's will to be a good captain and an overall good person in such circumstances? Harry's face was like an open book most of the time, and Victor was sure that the Englishman would do anything to help anyone from the team. He was the captain, after all. He got the fucking armband. Now it was his turn to take care of people. Victor wrapped his hands tighter around Harry's neck, securing his position and pulling him even close so that now he was literally lying on top of him on the bed.

If he was the captain now, he had to take care of all this. 

Victor still wasn't sure whether this was an act of revenge or some hidden desire. After all, it was just a desperate act of a person starved for a human touch, and after all, he didn't really give a fuck about anyone else's opinion, s long as they were locked in between four walls - 

And if Harry did - - -

Oh well.

To hell with him anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

With eyes closed, Victor could actually forget for a moment about the circumstances and just indulge in the kiss, letting his mouth have a greedy taste of Harry and not think about the consequences. Then there was a bit of resistance, palms pushing against his chest, and a tension in those lips - 

"What are you doing?" Harry gasped, desperate for air. 

Victor frowned. They weren't doing anything _wrong_. Just some good old bonding, just as Ole wanted. Maybe not in this way - but still - he was closer to Harry now. At least he felt that way. That was what Solskjaer was aiming for anyway. 

"Getting to know you," he whispered, trying to pull Harry's head closer again. Their position was way too uncomfortable and he wanted Harry to move, to get on the bed fully, to not just half-stand and half-kneel there as if he was on his way - he just wanted to pull him in the bed, under the blanket and not let go.

The kiss seemed to last forever, and now there was no more pushing away and fighting. Maguire's hands stayed on Vic's chest, but the pressure was gone, Harry has resigned and now, it was all up to him to do anything. He ran his hands to Harry's neck and traced his fingers down against the skin. Why was this so fascinating? He's never kissed a teammate before, and he's never kissed a man before - not like this at least - and now his head was spinning from the feeling of being with a man, like this, in the middle of the night, in a hotel full of their mates and team members.

Victor stroked the hair on the back of Harry's head before pulling it. "Don't you like it?"

He shouldn't have been surprised by Harry's expression, but it still got to him; there was something innocent in the was Harry watched him all the way through, as if he wouldn't dare to disagree.

"I've never - "

He didn't let him finish. "Feels good, right?"

As if he needed to be assured of that.

Harry's miserably confused face was still looming over him and he wanted to get rid of that while still keeping Harry close - he loved the feeling, the closeness, but seeing Harry Maguire and being reminded of him constantly was still too much of a challenge. 

"Stay here with me - " he whimpered, shifting to the side to make more space for Harry while still holding him as if he was worried that he might still try to leave. He hasn't felt like this for months; it wasn't just during this tournament, it was his whole life. He clung onto Harry, desperate to keep him close for at least a little longer. Feeling another man's body next to his was an unfamiliar feeling, new and unexpected but definitely not in a bad way. Even when looking away, Victor could feel Harry's body and hands - so close to him and so vulnerable, present, and resigned. 

Was he taking an advantage? He wasn't sure. He knew well that Harry was desperate to improve their relationship. He also knew that Harry was a bit too nice and maybe way too obedient for his own good. On the other hand, Harry was his own adult man and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. And right now, he was just lying on the bed with his hands wrapped around Vic. It might not have been his choice but he chose to stay. Victor gave him plenty of time to think before he made another move anyway.

" 't feels good, huh? Just like that - " He wasn't sure where those words were coming from, but he grabbed Harry's hands anyway and positioned them right where he wanted them, rolling onto his side to fit into the position of the small spoon. There was a certain comfort in that, and Harry's big hands were all he needed right now. It wasn't his fault that his captain was so prone to being manipulated. Once again, he waited for a response but there was none. Harry dumbly placed his hands, guided by Victor, on Vic's hips, accepting the position in which they laid on the bed. After all, there was nothing wrong with that.

Then Harry's hand, laid on his hip lazily, moved, and the shivers ran over Victor's body. The movement was slow, careful, almost frightened as if Harry wanted to be one hundred percent sure before he did anything - his hand slid forward, onto Vic's stomach. As it rested there, Vic was too afraid to take a breath. He was waiting. Harry's hand stopped at the hem of his pajama bottoms.

"Victor - "

The scared voice sounded right behind his head and it was annoying - annoyingly close and polite and fucking responsible. _Victor, are you sure? Victor, do you know what you're doing_?

He exhaled, unable to hold himself back any longer, and hoped that would be enough of an invitation for anyone to _go on_.

Maguire's hand was still hesitant. " _Victor_ ," he repeated quietly and Lindelöf was quiet. _What now_? He waited for a response. There was none. Victor decided to move on and leave it all to Harry. _Was that a sign of taking advantage_? He still wasn't sure. 

Harry's hand slid under the hem of the cloth - that was the only change. Victor had no idea how to feel about that. His own personal judgment wasn't helping him much. He laid there, waiting.

" _Vic -_ "

The hand slid in - and it was such a smooth gesture that Victor wouldn't even think about it if it wasn't affecting him personally - he froze in a moment, feeling the touch, knowing what it meant. 

"That's what you wanted?"Harry's question sounds so pre-fabricated and fake it almost makes Vic laugh - how is he supposed to focus on people interacting with him? But he learns soon what this all means - the feeling of pushing boundaries further and going on with the flow is still there. And Harry seemed more than ready to go on.

"Yeah - " he let out a shaky breath, knowing his opinion was kinda irrelevant when Harry's hand was right there - 

"Vic - I didn't mean to - "

The blabbering didn't help. Victor was somehow ready for all of that. Did that require any further explanation? "Shut up," he mumbled _almost_ lovingly, hoping to make Harry stop with the unnecessary attempts of explaining himself.

But it felt good.

He exhaled only when Harry touched him, and it was a painfully long exhale, desperate, and needed. 

"Vic - "

"Go on, Harry."

And Harry didn't say a word. There was a shaky, unsure touch of his warm lips on the back of Victor's neck and that was it, the answer, the reaction, and everything else. 

"Victor - "

"Shut up, Harry."

This time, it _was_ loving. And Harry listened.

Instead of talking, his hand moved, steadily and with a surprising force, as if all Harry's will was put into that instead of his previous words, and Victor grabbed the side of the pillow under his head, grabbed it and then squeezed it, brought the cloth closer to his lips and bit, he bit because he didn't want to let out a sound. Harry's breath was still there, caressing the skin of his neck and shoulder, and he felt completely naked and exposed, although he was still wearing his pajamas, but Harry was touching him where it was needed and that was all that mattered right now. "Harry - " he mumbled into the pillow cloth, but the real Harry couldn't possibly hear. _In a hotel full of their teammates - with some of them in the rooms next door - with one window slightly open - and hot Spanish air, making everyone feel lightheaded -_

He bit the pillow and whimpered, cumming all over Harry's hand. It was pathetic, the sound he made, and the way he was holding onto the pillow, it was all pathetic, and apart from being relieved, he felt embarrassed and stupid. 

The touch of a hand disappeared almost immediately, as well as the comforting warmth of another body in his bed - the bed creaked and Harry was gone, up and away. Victor didn't dare to turn over and take a look. He stayed in the same position, fingers dug in his pillow. He could feel the wet spot on the bedsheet next to his crotch and it felt embarrassing - everything about this was embarrassing. He was like a teenage boy again. _Maybe he was alone the whole time - maybe he just imagined the hand_ \- no, that wouldn't work now.

He just dug his fingers deeper into the pillow and started to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

He waited, closing his eyes occasionally and wishing for a merciful sleep to come - without success. His heart was still racing and he couldn't understand what has just happened. And if it wasn't for the small wet patch on the bedsheet, he would have thought it was just a psychotic hallucination. 

_Has he really let that happen? Has he really made it happen? Has he really made Harry do it?_

_What was the reason, what was the point?_

He heard the water running in the bathroom and he felt dirty all of sudden - he should wash up, or at least wash his hands and wipe himself and - maybe even change his clothes. He struggled with his own consciousness - should he go to the bathroom and face Harry again? Should he fall asleep like this? Should he pretend in the morning that nothing has happened? That it was just a dream? That he doesn't remember? Would Harry talk about this tomorrow? How can they go on about their business as usual?

It seemed to last forever; the water in the bathroom was running and Victor couldn't fall asleep. Maybe Harry is also trying to desperately wash away what has happened. Maybe he's scrubbing his hands with soap frantically, hoping to get rid of Victor - the touch and the memory as well - without success.

Victor waited for another minute or two and then slipped out of the bed. _Maybe it would be better to sleep on the couch tonight_ , he thought as he slowly walked towards the bathroom. The door was closed. He was hesitant to knock.

He knocked three times, each knock quieter than the previous. _Pathetic_. _Weak_. _Just like him_.

"Yeah?"

He opened the door - Harry was standing by the sink, hands on its sides.

Neither of them was capable of saying anything - Victor opened his mouth, realizing he should have thought about this before because he couldn't find any word that would seem acceptable now.

Harry managed to exhale. "So?"

Lindelöf's eyes shifted around the room. "Do you - do you want me to - _repay_ \- you - "

"No - " Harry seemed to be surprised by the harshness in his own voice. "No - _no_ \- I mean - I already - _took care of it_ \- " He looked at the basin and turned the tap off. " _Myself_." He seemed to be slightly embarrassed.

 _How old are we again?_ Victor thought. _Are we having this discussion? Are we struggling to find the right words as if we were fifteen again?_ He bit his lip, waiting for more information from the skipper, but it wasn't coming. 

"Harry, I - " He made an attempt to explain what he felt. It was so cold in the bathroom, especially the floor tiles under his feet, and this situation wasn't helping much. He stared longingly at Harry's back and wondered how warm it would probably be if he just came closer and tried to hug him from behind. Just the thought of this made him shiver even more.

"You don't look well."

Victor was quick to respond. "It's the heat."

"You should go to sleep."

"Will you - will you as well?"

"Yeah."

"And _tomorrow_?"

Finally, Harry looked straight at him. " _Tomorrow_ \- ?"

"Are we - alright? With this - ?"

"What else can we do?"

Lindelöf took a step forward before stopping himself, hesitating, and then making another move. He touched Harry's shoulder awkwardly, rubbed his palm against it, and then let his fingers touch the coth of Harry's shirt. "I'm sorry - "He let his hand slide down in between Harry's shoulder blades. "I don't know - " He stared at the back of Harry's head, glad that he doesn't need to look in his eyes because that would ruin him. "I'm sorry if - " None of the words seem to be right. He got closer to Harry, just now noticing the actual height difference between them as he pressed his nose against the back of Harry's neck, feeling the messy hair getting into his face. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, kissing the skin, the hair, the rim of the collar of Harry's shirt, anything that was in the way. Harry's skin was warm and his hair smelled nice, those were the only sensations that mattered now, and Victor wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, holding him with almost possessive passion. His body felt _so good_ to hold - the perfect height and the perfect size, fitting _right there_ , offering a steady and firm stability. _Harry Maguire_. The one person whom he _should_ hate - whom he _wanted to_ hate - _so desperately_ \- 

He kissed his neck again - _so_ _desperately_ \- 

"You should have said something before - " When Harry spoke, Victor felt his chest rise and fall, and he hugged him even more tightly as if he wanted to become one with his body. "We could have - had a normal conversation - About _this_ \- "

"But I don't know what _this_ is." Is _this_ just because of Harry? Is _this_ something that he's been hiding from himself for years? Does _this_ have a name? Does this happen to other men? Is _this_ just an act of a desperate man who doesn't know how to name his feelings for another man? "I don't want to know. Not today."

Harry tried to break free from Victor's embrace; he took his hands firmly and forced him to let go, then he turned around. "I'll push the beds together."

It was such an unexpected sentence that Lindelöf just nodded before he even understood what it meant. Harry was already gone from the bathroom when the words really got to him - _push the beds together? Why? Was this some code word in English? A metaphor? Something he had no chance of knowing?_

He slowly walked out of the bathroom just to see Maguire right at work, moving the nightstand and then pushing Victor's bed closer to his own. It worked like a charm. Victor watched Maguire's tall figure do all the work in the darkened room. 

"What is it - what is it good for?" he asked as Harry stood still with hands on his hips.

"Get in."

Lindelöf switched off the bathroom light and hesitantly walked closer to the bed.

"You should get used to me." Harry's voice had an undertone of a slight chuckle. "We'll be together all the time in the team now."

Victor climber into the bed and shifter to the side immediately, making room for Harry. This felt new. This felt _exciting_. This felt - like something lost a long, long time ago. This was like a sleepover at a friend's house, or cheap accommodation he would share with friends at their budget trips abroad.

"Is this what Ole had in mind?"

Harry joined him in the bed, adjusting his body right next to Victor's, as there was only a light blanket separating them. "You can't be hiding from me forever, Vic." His voice was surprisingly smooth and calm as if nothing of the night has ever happened. "We're in this together now."

"I know."

He could feel Maguire's body lying next to him and the knowledge was tempting. He lifted the blanket and shifted even closer to his skipped, throwing the blanket over them both again as he snuggled to Harry. It was fine - as long as he didn't see his face. Harry's body was fine - _very fine indeed_ , actually - and Victor closed his eyes, letting his senses soak in the feeling. When was the last time he had a chance to admire such body - feel it against him, lie next to it and breathe in the scent - the scent of a man - a man who made him feel things he didn't know about.

"You're such a coward," he heard Harry speak, and all he could manage was to smile, smirk, bury his face in Harry's chest and mumble.

" _Shut up, Harry._ "


	7. Chapter 7

His phone alarm clock went off somewhere on the nightstand and he woke up immediately, and without thinking rushed out of bed to turn it off. The nightstand was in the middle of the room and Victor hit the stop button and laid the phone back. _Well, well, well._ He was already missing the feeling of Harry's body, wrapped all around him.

" _'morning_."

Victor turned around to just see Harry yawn and stretch his arms.

" _Morning_."

"How did you sleep?" Harry asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Good, yeah - It was nice."

Victor wasn't lying - it _was_ nice, having someone else's body this close, aligned with his, and to feel Harry's heartbeat before falling asleep; Harry was perfect for this, and his chest was a much better place to lay one's head than a pillow. It actually might have been the best sleep he's had in a long time, but now there was a bitter feeling of guilt sinking in his heart. What about David? He loved David, adored him, and he made a promise - more to himself than to Dave - that he would hate anyone who would try to even _disrespect_ the Spaniard. And Harry crossed a line there.

_How could he now look at Dave at the training?_

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, _I suppose_."

The day felt like a dream and Victor moved through it as if he was a sleepwalker. Nothing made sense. Nothing felt real. Just 24 hours ago, he was just grumpy, and angry with Solskjaer and maybe the whole world, and now nothing made sense at all. Harry tried to talk to him in a friendly manner, but his attempts went flat as Victor's brain was overwhelmed with his own thoughts. On the way to the training ground, Ole turned at him with the same question as Harry in the morning. "Are you alright, Victor?"

He almost threw up. The tension was real - but it was just inside him, with no real reason, and nobody around him seemed to notice it.

In the dressing room, he couldn't stop staring. _Fuck, what was this?_ He always avoided looking at Harry and made himself believe it was because he hated him that much - but he couldn't take his eyes off him now. It wasn't _hate_ that forced him to avoid looking and glue his eyes to the floor whenever Harry was near. It wasn't hate that filled him with the desire to punch Harry's lights out; it was just his cowardly reaction to the new developing feelings.

"Vic?" David was coming towards him, with gloves in his hands.

"Hi."

Dave stood there, holding out his gloves with a questioning look in his eyes. "Will you - ?"

"Oh yeah, of course, sorry." He would _almost_ forget their ritual - because of Harry Maguire who was just pulling a shirt over his dumb slab head.

"So, how did it go yesterday?" David asked quietly as he started to push the first glove against Dave's hand. 

"It was - _fine_ , you know - " Victor could feel his cheeks turn the same shade as the Manchester red on his shirt. "We didn't talk much."

"And that's a good thing?"

Lindelöf shrugged, trying to keep himself focused on the glove.

His eyes followed Harry on the pitch as well, focused on the way his muscles flex and how his legs appear to be strong, and his mind wanders onto the thin ice of imagining him doing other things than kicking a ball and running with the rest of the lads.

"Victor!" The coach's voice snapped him back to reality.

And de Gea's eyes were boring into his soul.

He knew something terrible would come up, and that he would be held responsible for the things that happened yesterday. He just didn't expect it to be so stupid. 

When they arrived back to their hotel room - Harry was trying to talk about the most boring stuff that happened on the training ground, keeping the conversation alive with all his might - he noticed immediately that something was wrong.

"Oh God - " He made two or three more steps into the room and then dropped the bag he was carrying. "The beds - the beds are back on their places - separated - "

"So what?"

"The room service - someone must have seen it and push it back in place - "

Harry's dumb eyes were still staring at him.

"What if someone tells Solskjaer?" he hissed, his eyes darting around the room.

The initial shock in Harry's eyes was gone almost immediately. "Why would they? It's not illegal to have beds pushed together - "

"But - they know it's the team and - I don't know, just - they probably think it's weird - "

"It's fine, why would they care?"

He turned to Harry desperately. "For fuck's sake, I don't know! What if they do?"

"You're panicking without a reason - "

" _What if they do_?!"

Harry shrugged. "I think that depends on you and how you feel about this - "

"How?"

"You can always say we watched a movie or something, and the angle was better from that one place in the room, so we pushed the beds together for that - "

" _Jesus_ \- "

"Or that it's simply better to have one large bed and sleep on it - Do you really think somebody would report this?"

"I don't know - "

"Or you can always tell the truth," Harry interrupted him. " _If you know it._ "

There was the catch.

"Do you know it, Vic?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's basically Ole being a dad.

" _Victor_."

The voice, the tone, the intonation - it was all just like in Lindelöf's nightmares. When Solskjaer spoke like this, with this much emphasis on the name, troubles were near.

"Can I talk to you in the morning?"

Lindelöf nodded, feeling his feet turn cold. It surely couldn't be about - _that_ \- It's been two days. They didn't dare to push their beds together again, and Victor managed to balance on the knife-edge with his feelings; keep his emotions and feelings tamed, at least for now, and not repeat the mistake of giving in to them. _Almost_. Daydreaming about Harry in the dressing room and painfully tearing his eyes off of Harry as he was undressing - that could have been an indicator of things not going as smoothly - but Victor was ready to live with that. He spoke to Harry a bit more now, although there was still a terrible tension between them. Harry always seemed to be waiting for something - for Victor to sit next to him on the team bus, or to sit at the same table with him, and later, in the evening, to maybe mention something personal, something about feelings - 

It didn't happen and Harry didn't ask; he just waited with his saddened eyes, quiet and lonely as usual.

What could Solskjaer want to talk about? Lindelöf frowned and rolled onto his side. His thoughts were keeping him awake once again. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. There was always something bothering him - and it was always about Harry.

"Harry?"

The man in the other bed rolled onto his side as well. "Yeah?"

"Solskjaer said he wants to talk to me. Tomorrow."

"When did he say that?"

"After dinner, when I was leaving the room. He came to me and just said this."

"He probably just wants to check if everything is okay."

" _Yeah_?" Victor let out a desperate laugh. "He's in for a surprise."

"He might ask how we get on now."

Lindelöf held his breath. He wanted to make sure he could hear any change in Harry's voice.

"What should I say?"

"I can't answer that for you, Victor."

In the morning, his pulse was constantly reaching unknown heights. He couldn't eat at the breakfast table, so he settled for a cup of coffee, which proved to be a terrible idea for his already racing heart. _At least he might have a heart attack before even seeing Solskjaer_. There was no escaping his fate though as Solskjaer asked him to come to his room after breakfast before they would go to the training ground.

He arrived in front of Solskjaer's room and waited, shifting from one foot to the other, unsure when to knock and how to knock. It was taking him too long and he could feel his hands go numb as the creeping cold took over them. At the moment, Solskjaer opened the door from inside.

"Oh - I was just wondering where you are - " the Norwegian laughed upon seeing Victor standing there. "You're here like a ghost. Come in - "

The room looked just like his and Harry's, with the only exception - Solskjaer was staying there alone. E _verything would have been so fucking easy if we all could stay alone_ , Victor thought furiously.

"So - " Ole showed him into the room and gestured towards the two armchairs with the coffee table in between them - there was a pile of papers and pens on it. "Sit down. How are you feeling?"

"Good." He wanted to give a more detailed report, but his throat was dry and the single word came out sounding so rough that it made Ole raise eyebrows.

"Is everything alright?"

He just nodded. 

"I spoke to some of the coaches - "

"I'm _fine_ ," he snapped, unsure where it came from.

"Your personal results are...in norm...but they noticed you looked disinterested and sluggish. Like you don't even want to be there."

"I want - it's not that - "

"Then what is it?"

Lindelöf shook his head. How could he talk about this? "The acclimatization or something - "

"What about Harry?"

Victor could only hope his shock wasn't too obvious. "What about him?"

"How do you get on?" The look in Solskjaer's mellow eyes showed only genuine interest.

"As we have to."

Solskjaer blinked, unconvinced. When Victor didn't elaborate his feelings further, Ole cleared his throat and leaned forward. " _Victor_ \- "

He had a father-like voice and authority, and it made Victor feel stupid and silly, as if he was a child again, being scolded for doing something silly.

"Victor, someone from the staff told me about the beds in your room."

"It's none of their business - " He protested weakly.

" _I know_ ," Solskjaer insisted. "They meant it well - they thought I should know because they thought you had some...some party there. The room was in quite a state probably." His joke didn't land. "They thought they should tell me in case you had some party in there, girls and booze, you know - "

"We didn't - there was no booze - " It shocked him that someone would think this - about him and Harry, of all people, that they would be the ones to host some orgies in their room. "No girls either," he corrected himself and regretted it immediately.

"Look, I didn't ask them for the information, I didn't want to know. I'm not asking you for an explanation. All I need to know is that there was no alcohol, nothing inappropriate."

"What's inappropriate?" Lindelöf's eyes were staring at the floor. He felt the weight of his guilt tighten his chest so much he could hardly breathe.

" _Sex-workers_." 

In any other circumstances, the precise wording and pronunciation of his boss would make him crack a smile. Now he only let out a desperate chuckle.

_He'd wish it were sex-workers._

"No - no, it was just - us - " He gasped for more air, battling the tears that were rising in his eyes. "We just - we didn't - didn't invite anyone - we were - in the room - just us - "

"Victor." Now Solskjaer's voice sounded soothing. "You don't need to explain yourself to me. I believe your word."

Victor bit his lower lip, still staring at the same spot on the floor. _He can't break down, he can't break down, he can't break down now - he just can't -_ His vision got blurry as the tears flooded his eyes and he sobbed, immediately pressing a hand over his own mouth.

"Victor?" Although surprised, Solskjaer was quick to react. Within seconds, he got up and found a stack of paper tissues out of somewhere to hand them to Victor, hesitant whether to ask any further in this situation.

"I - I thought I hated him - " Victor furiously wiped his eyes, using so much repressed aggression that Solskjaer touched his shoulder, trying a calming 'here, here' as a comfort. Victor squeezed the tissues in his hand and gasped, trying to keep at least some dignity. Tears were still running down his face, albeit silently now - he held his breath for a moment and then exhaled, keeping himself quiet. "I tried to anyway - "

"What is it about?"

Lindelöf shook his head. He still couldn't put it into words - and when he dared to look Ole in the eyes, he realized words would be useless. Ole had to know, he had to realize moments ago. There was some pity in his eyes, or maybe Victor was still half-blinded by his tears - he felt ashamed and stupid for crying in front of his boss and hung his head down in shame, almost waiting for his sentence.

"Is it about Harry?" Solskjaer returned to his seat and pulled his armchair closer to Victor's.

Lindelöf nodded, wiping his eyes again.

"About you and Harry?"

Another nod.

"Are you - ?" It was a natural thing to ask; Victor couldn't blame him. But as soon as he heard the beginning of the sentence, he abruptly ended it.

"No! I mean - I never thought - I just - didn't realize it - "

"Look, you can get your own room if it would be better - "

"No, no - the guys - they would wonder - "

"It's not about _the guys_ , Victor. You know that." He touched Victor's knee comfortingly. "You don't need to explain yourself."

Victor let out a shaky sigh. "Nothing really happened between us - " Solskjaer coughed awkwardly. "I just realized some things. Or - not that - I noticed - I don't even know - "

"I - obviously I can't know what you're dealing with now - " Solskjaer was very careful with his choice of words. "You should talk to someone - you know our psychologist is there for you - "

"Thanks, boss."

"I mean it, Victor. If you're dealing with this now, you should have someone to talk to about it. You can talk to me - but I can't offer much advice. And for goodness' sake - talk to Harry, okay? That's what I had in mind - you two need to _work_ together, first and foremost - "

Victor nodded. His breathing was slowly getting back to normal.

"Are you sure you can deal with this?"

"Yeah - I'm sorry about that - before - the crying and stuff." He bit his lip. "It's been - it's been a lot lately."

"It's fine. You should focus on yourself a bit more - we need you to be fully ready for the rest of the season. We need you _both_ to be ready," he corrected himself. "Should I talk to Harry as well?"

"No, no, I think - I'd rather deal with this myself - " He hesitated. "Is all I said - confidential?"

" _Top secret,"_ Solskjaer smiled. "Victor, I'm here just to make sure your partnership on the pitch works. The rest of it - it's none of my business. I need only one thing from you now - to keep the rest of it out of the pitch. Okay?"

It was actually so much easier to breathe now. "Thank you."

"Now - I want you to pull yourself together. You're strong, Victor. I believe in you. Keep your head cool, and don't be afraid to ask for help, alright?" He collected the used tissues from him and got up to throw them in a bin. 

There was definitely something father-like about him; talking straight to the point and being quick to react - Victor felt like he definitely needed this kick up the arse.

"Thanks, boss." He got up as well. "I'm not - I'm not really sure - _what_ I am - "

"There's plenty of time to figure it out. But it's up to you, not me."

"Thank you." He tamed his urge to hug Ole (as he would with his actual father), and walked towards the door with Ole following him. 

"Don't be harsh on Harry. He's a nice lad."

"I know." Oh God, he definitely knew now. Just hearing Harry's name filled his heart with - _what was it? Warmth? No more anger? Peace?_

"And no more crying, Vic."

Victor managed to smile. Yeah, Ole was definitely like a dad now. Teasing him and making fun, but boosting his confidence as well. 

His mind was clearer now. This was the beginning of something new.


	9. Chapter 9

Victor got on the team bus as one of the last, carrying his water bottle and phone in one hand while touching each seat he passed with the other. Many of the seats were occupied by now, and the lads were all either in a lively conversation or resting with headphones on and eyes closed. He passed some of the seats, looking for David as usual. It wasn't Dave though who caught his attention - it was the robust figure of Harry, who was sitting by the window alone, with no headphones on and nobody to talk to.

"Can I sit here?"

Harry looked up at him, confused, and Victor realized he does look like Denis the Mennace indeed. There was something lovable in that. He's also seen some comments about him looking like a fridge or a wardrobe, and while it used to make him chuckle and take it as yet another reason to dislike him, now there was nothing malicious in that.

"Yeah, sure." Maguire's voice was surprisingly highly pitched. He shifted a little as if he was afraid there wasn't enough space for Vic.

The Swede sat down. "How are you after training?"

"Well - " He laughed a little. "Embarrassed. Shouldn't have let Dan nutmeg me."

Somehow, it was more Maguire's smile than the hilarious memory of that moment that made Victor smile as well. He looked over his shoulder just to see the concerned face of David de Gea. With the years of their friendship, he felt like he could read Dave's mind. _What are you doing?_ \- _Sitting with Harry today._ \- _That doesn't look like you._ \- _Well, we all make mistakes._

"Wanna listen to some music?" He opened his hand with the phone in it.

"I'm not sure we have the same taste - "

"Do you have headphones?"

"Oh - yeah." He reached into his pocket.

"I left mine in the hotel room."

Harry had classic wire headphones, and it was exactly as basic and boring as Victor would think. Of course, _Harry wouldn't have air pods_. He set up the headphones and offered one to Harry. 

It was always easier to communicate without words with him. And even now, the act of sharing headphones was quietly bringing them together.

"It's nice," Harry commented on the music that Victor played, and Lindelöf nodded. He placed his hand with the phone in the small gap between their thighs. Harry instinctively moved his leg closer, to close the gap and support Vic's hand.

Victor smiled. His own headphones were in his left pocket, naturally, not forgotten in their room. This was just so much better.

He laid his hand on Harry's thigh and Harry didn't even flinch.

"Yes, it is."

Small steps, very small steps, that's what he needed. Like sitting next to Harry, asking pointless questions about training, and sharing headphones. 

He looked over his shoulder at Dave again.

 _What's going on?_ Dave's stare demanded.

 _One day -_ Victor grinned - _One day I might tell you._


End file.
